


the boystown blouse

by lovinguislonely



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, DeanCas - Freeform, DeanCas AU - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, domestic deancas, sheer tops and boystown, supern au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 17:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30092796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinguislonely/pseuds/lovinguislonely
Summary: Dean buys a sheer blouse and he can’t bring himself to wear it. Cas helps him work through the emotional turmoil of self acceptance.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	the boystown blouse

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so this is kind of an au?? kind of not?? not everything is strictly canon, but you could kind of view is as a fix it fic if you really wanted to. like this is what happens after cas comes back from the empty and they get married and buy a farmhouse together. it’s a little angsty, but mostly just lovey dovey gross deancas shit. enjoy!

dean bought a sheer blouse from some preppy store in the mall, and he hasn’t put it on yet.

he hasn’t even taken it out of the bag. it’s just sitting in the corner of he and cas’ bedroom, taunting him. daring him to peek inside.  _take it out. put it on. you know you want to._

cas always tells dean how brave he is. but that stupid bag makes him feel like a coward. like a meek, wounded animal. a scared little boy. 

cas asks him about it sometimes. usually while dean is too distracted to answer. while he’s packing for a trip. or getting dressed. or tidying up. cas just sits there on the edge of the bed with his brow furrowed, staring at the blue shopping bag, tied tightly closed. “do you not like it? we could return it. or give it to claire i’m sure she’d wear it” 

“i like it just fine cas” 

“...you’ve never worn it” 

“i know”

“why not?”

“i don’t know”

it’s the same stifled conversation every time. cas trying lovingly, all be it desperately, to get dean to open up. and dean only closing himself off even more as a result. slamming the door. deadbolting it. putting the chain on just to be sure. dean’s noticed a lot of their conversations are like that lately. 

it didn’t use to be that way. not in the beginning. dean used to get drunk and spill his guts to cas. then he started doing it sober. he revealed all his weak points. his soft underbelly. he told cas the sort of things you could use to hurt someone if you really wanted to. things dean would normally keep under lock and key. tucked somewhere deep where even he could hardly find them. dean thinks maybe he was just too lovestruck to notice. like the aching, constant, almost painful love he had for cas was just too big. he couldn’t tame it. it was bigger than his fear. bigger than his insecurity. bigger than anything. 

old lovers always say it’s harder to love someone once you really know them. for the most part, dean has found that to be untrue. it’s not harder to love cas. loving cas is as easy as breathing. but now, it’s harder to lose control. it’s harder to let go. he is no longer swept up in the storm of new love. he and cas now spend more time reading to each other in bed than they do having sex. they used to go bar hopping, now they have picnics. they used to be young, and reckless. dean used to think cas looked more like a painting than a person. the way his hair was always perfect in that ‘just rolled out of bed’ kind of way. the beautifully dipped bend of his cupid’s bow. his eyes.  _god_ ,  dean never got over his fucking eyes. dean used to love to watch them roll into the back of his head when he came, his fingers curled so deep into deans hair he could never really brush out the tangles. now, cas gardens. dean owns a typewriter. they sleep under two separate blankets because cas always hogged them when they shared. now, their love is old. and they are old. and dean goes back to being afraid of who he really is. dean goes back to being afraid of sheer tops. dean didn’t used to have time for fear. now, he’s got all the time in the world.

dean comes home from work one day, and the shirt is hanging up in the closet. tucked in between his boring pants and flannel jackets. if he hadn’t been thinking about the damn thing already he would have missed it. dean knows cas put it there, but for a moment he imagines the shirt did it itself. just another attempt to bully dean into submission.  _ try it on. go ahead. what are you a coward?  _

he is. he’s an absolute quivering fucking coward. 

“...sorry”

dean turns on his heels to see cas standing in the doorway, his hands in his back pockets. he’s got a striped sweater on, and blue cordoury pants. he’s wearing his hair in a clip that makes the sides puff out. he’s beautiful. and brave. and he wouldn’t be scared to put on a fucking shirt because he’s never been scared of who he is. he’s never been scared to be feminine. he claims he feels “naked” without nail polish. his ass looks great in a skirt. he’s never been scared to love himself. he’s never been scared to love dean.

“about the shirt, i mean. i couldn’t stand the thought of it rotting in that bag forever”

“...it’s alright”

“you still don’t have to put it on or anything” cas assures him. he rocking on his heels slightly. he does that when he’s nervous “if you don’t want to. i just thought the closet was a better place for it, that’s all”

“i get it baby, it’s ok”

the silence that falls upon the room then has dean leaning towards the door. glancing at the window.  _do you think i jump from the second floor without breaking a leg? probably not at my age_.

“are we ever gonna talk about it?” cas asks after a while. 

“talk about what?”

cas laughs then, his eyes going wide and his brows shooting up. “i’ll take that as a no”

dean bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.  _old lovers always say it’s harder to love someone once you really know them_. dean wonders if cas thinks that about him.

“...i don’t know why-” dean bites out “this damn shirt has been haunting me for weeks now and i don’t know why”

“i know” cas states the obvious, his face softer now than it was before “but i think i  _ do _ know why”

“please enlighten me” dean falls heavy onto the edge of the bed then. he can feel  his shoulders slumping into relaxation when cas takes a seat beside him, his hand resting delicately on dean’s knee.

“i think, you’re scared the shirts gonna make you gay”

dean absolutely balks at that “baby, i  _ am  _ gay”

“not like that” cas continues “like  theatrical  gay. boystown, nightclubs, lady gaga gay”

it’s the sort of thing dean would say. the comparisons, jokster lingo. dean wonders what traits he picked up off of cas. maybe they dance the same way now, swaying and jumping with their eyes closed. maybe they yawn the same. or laugh the same. or make the same confused expression. maybe dean walks like him now, with his shoulders rolled back and his chin high. he’d be happy with any of those things. he’d be happy just to be closer. to be the same.

“...i don’t want to be scared to be, boystown gay or whatever you said” dean sighs “i don’t know why i am in the first place. well i guess i  _ kind  _ _of_ do”

“how’s that?”

dean swallows, watching cas nod slowly in encouragement. “... my dad, i think. it’s been years since he died but i feel like he’s still watching me sometimes. with this, disappointed scowl on his face. and i love you enough to be with you and not care what he would have thought about it. enough to metaphorically tell him to fuck off. but i’m not sure i love  _ me  _ enough to wear that fucking shirt. i can practically feel him breathing down my neck every time i even think about it. i’m not sure i even  _ like  _ myself enough”

“...well i like you” cas replies “if that counts for anything. and at least for now, i think i can like you enough for the both of us”

“that counts for everything” dean tells him, trying to choke back the lump forming in his throat as he looks at cas. he doesn’t look so much like a painting anymore. he’s got pores now, and smile lines. his hair is greying at the roots. he’s a person. a beautiful, wonderful person. too beautiful to be dreamed. too beautiful to be painted. 

“i love you enough too” cas adds “...i know you like that shirt dean. and your dad isn’t here anymore. and sam’s in california, so there’s nobody around to tease you about it, however lighthearted it may be” dean laughs fondly at that “it’s just me. just you and me”

“yeah” dean breathes, wiping a few stray tears from under his eyes “you and me”

cas pulls him into his chest then, resting his hand softly on the side of deans face, and placing a sweet, lingering kiss to the top of his head. dean wraps his arms tightly around cas’ waist, slipping his fingers up under the back of his sweater to  scratch lightly at his back. 

dean puts the shirt on the next morning. cas insists on buttoning it up for him. he barely buttons it enough to cover deans navel and then claims it’s good enough. “you look like tony montana” cas chuckles “it’s kinda hot”

dean lounges around in it the whole day. napping on the couch in it. watching netflix with cas in it. cooking dinner in it. and after the sunsets, and the house gets quiet, after cas blows out the candles and goes up to bed, with a quiet kiss and a whispered “goodnight. i love you so much”, dean walks around the house in the dark. nothing but the shine of the moon through the windows to light his way. 

he runs his fingers across the back of their couch. presses his fingerprints into the dust on their tv stand. he picks up the photos off the mantle. one of he and sam when they were kids, his brothers hair shaggy, and his face plump with baby fat. one of dean’s mother mary, standing in the kitchen of their childhood home. her eyes glimmering. her smiles blinding. one of he and cas. they couldn’t have been much older than 23, stretched out on a green bedspread at some college house party. dean’s draped himself across cas’ chest, half asleep and grinning. cas has got a cigarette hanging from hand. he’s blowing the smoke over the top of dean’s head. his free hand in dean’s hair, their legs intertwined. 

dean remembers that day. he remembers he and cas drinking themselves into a daze. waking up the next day on that same bedspread. laughing about it until their stomachs hurt. 

_ “i can’t remember a thing” _

_ “me either” _

_ they laughed again. _

_ “you look terrible” _

_ “you look beautiful” _

he remembers the other boys wandering around the house. their wine spritzers. their curled fringes. their sheer shirts. dean remembers thinking they looked cool. and brave. and boystown gay.

he finds his way into their bedroom soon after, but he doesn’t come in. he just stands in the doorway for a while, watching the moonlight as it hits cas’ face.he looks at the polaroids perched on the dresser. dean and cas at a birthday party. dean and cas in a photo booth. dean driving the impala. cas with his feet on the dash. he looks at the pile of filled sketchbooks on his nightstand, his overflowing waste basket filled with first drafts. he looks at their blue drapes, and their plants on the window sill, and their two separate blankets.

and he climbs into bed, shirt still on. 

cas turns within minutes to wrap his arms around deans middle, and press a kiss to the back of his neck. “i don’t know what i’d do without you” dean whispers to him. 

“you’d be just fine” cas replies, his voice gruff and heavy with sleep. 

“no i wouldn’t” dean scoffs.

“yes you would” cas restates “i’m not what makes you brave dean. i’m not what  makes you good”

“...maybe not” dean turns to face him then, pressing a deep, aching kiss to his lips “maybe i am good on my own. but if i wasn’t for you i don’t think i would ever believe it. i don’t think i’d even know where to start”

“ _ this  _ is a start” cas whispers, pinching the sleeve of dean’s shirt, his voice choking up “it’s a damn good start”

“i love you” dean practically gasps “god i love you so much”

“i know” cas laughs, tears in his eyes “i know baby. i love you too”

they kiss again, finally settling back down to sleep. cas curls the fabric of dean’s shirt tightly into his fingers, and doesn’t let go. 


End file.
